


Generation Steam Heat

by lacepirate



Series: Drabbles, Ramblings, Ideas & More [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Coming Untouched, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Face Slapping, Flogging, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Masochism, Not Beta Read, Porn with a little bit of Plot, Rough Sex, Rough treatment, breath play, cum and precum as lube, light degradation, light humiliation, peter being a punk, rebellious phases, slash whipping?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 20:40:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20141656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacepirate/pseuds/lacepirate
Summary: Peter’s had what he supposes one could call a little bit of a rebellious streak lately. And really, what does Tony expect of him? He’s 18, just experiencing real freedom for the first time in his life.Peter (unintentionally) decides being a punk about everything is the best way to get Tony's attention.





	Generation Steam Heat

**Author's Note:**

> I made an [outfit moodboard](https://shoplook.io/outfit-preview/838711) to go with this story!!
> 
> okay!! fair warning, this contains a scene of BDSM practices in which there is: flogging with a leather belt, (or whipping if that's a more apt term??) breath play, masochism, and using cum and precum as lube. 
> 
> please use lube and condoms and practice safe sex!!
> 
> also, use of the word queer in a positive sense (no slurs or insults or anything like that)
> 
> this is so much longer than I anticipated it being, I was just taking a break from my other WIPs, fml

Peter’s had what he supposes one could call a little bit of a  _ rebellious _ streak lately. And really, what does Tony expect of him? He’s 18, just experiencing real freedom for the first time in his life. University does that to people. At first, it felt a little like he was being held with his head underwater. Spiderman responsibilities aside, it was only a handful of months ago he had to ask his teachers to use the  _ bathroom _ . And it wasn’t even guaranteed that they were going to say yes. And for the most part, he had to listen. Unless he actually had to go and they  _ did  _ say no, then he would just leave anyway, because really? Do they want him to piss in his seat?

But now? Now, he was being assaulted from all angles about his future.  _ What are you going to do? What’s your major? Is that going to make enough money? What kind of career do you want?  _ His head felt like it was going to explode most of the time. He wanted to scream at everyone to finally just, shut the hell up. He’s 18 for crying out loud, he can’t even drink legally yet, and they’re wanting him to pick what he’s going to do for the rest of his life, without error? And admittedly, he’s not that great at adulting yet, but that sounds like some kind of bullshit. That thought sounded suspiciously like Nick Fury, and he shivers, electing to ignore it for now. 

So what if he’s handed a few papers in a few days late, he’s still learning. Even if it was his second semester and he actually knows how it works pretty well by now. And if he lets his partner pick up most (read: all) of the slack on their group project, who cares?  _ If _ the prof even cares, he’ll make up the credit elsewhere later. He’s just finally enjoying his freedom properly. He feels like he deserves some, after Thanos, and Beck and the end of the world. He knows for a very disturbing fact that aunt May and Happy were enjoying the freedom of the now empty apartment. Ew. 

But now it’s friday, the last day of the week before reading break starts, and he doesn’t have any classes next week. It’s at 7:30 am when MJ calls him, his phone loudly vibrating across his nightstand, and he’s happy that he doesn’t have a roommate to yell at him for it. 

“‘Lo?” He slurs, pressing the phone to the side of his face pointing towards the ceiling, so he didn’t have to have his hand up to hold it. 

“Dude, guess what?” MJ says, and she sounds entirely too excited for this early on a friday morning. 

“Hm?” 

“You remember that like, newer punk band that I showed you the other day? They do that awesome charity shit that I showed you, the ocean cleanup and reforestation projects? They were also the ones who did that really awesome cover of  _ Blitzkrieg Bop _ ?”

“Yeah, wha’ ‘bout ‘em?” 

“They’re doing a meet and greet thing today! They literally just tweeted it out,” and she goes on to give him an address that he knows is pretty nearby. 

“Wha’ time’s it at?” his brain is getting there, slowly. He’ll just need a couple of cups of coffee first. 

“11:30.”

Peter glances over at his clock. “Aw, shit, MJ, I can’t I have class this morning.”

“So? It’s the last day before reading break, I highly doubt the profs will a) care and b) expect people to be there. Everyone’s pretty checked out already.”

He half nods along with her argument, already knowing that he’s made up his mind to go instead of going to his lecture that he knows he probably doesn’t need to be present for anyway. 

“Tha’s true.” finally opening his eyes, he looks around his room, and he should probably clean all that dirty laundry up.

“Fine, i’ll go, but if May catches us, I’m blaming it on you.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t already blame everything on me.”

He snickers, and they say their goodbyes, MJ is going to meet Peter at his dorm room soon enough anyway. 

  
  
  


“Yeah, but what one do you like and feel comfortable in? It doesn’t matter what I like, I’m not the one wearing it. Your body is your own to do with as you so choose.”

“That’s not the answer I was hoping for.” Peter slumps his shoulders slightly. 

“What were you hoping for?”

“I was  _ hoping  _ for you to say these jeans-” Peter gestures to the pair he has on, all black skinnies and ripped at the knees.

“And this top,” he points to the navy blue button down. It’s really warm too because it’s not just flimsy cotton but something else that’s also thicker, which is a bonus, because it’s hovering pretty close to or below zero outside.

“Then there’s your answer, bud.” 

“You’re so smart, MJ.”

Peter walks over to his wardrobe, pulling off his current sleep tee, and replacing it with a clean one, and he notices that the one he grabs, coincidentally, is a vintage black Ramones tee with white writing and graphics. Tony gave it to him for this past christmas, and honestly, it’s probably his favourite gift, not only because it’s vintage, but because it was also Tony’s. Why he still had it, Peter doesn’t question, but it launched a very long and playfully heated discussion about Tony’s days as a punk before they got on to the topic of music and bands. 

It’s his favourite shirt, it’s so ridiculously soft, Peter wants to wear it all hours of every day but the thought of ruining it scares him, so he saves it for more special events. Tony had gradually broke him into the idea of maybe  _ not  _ wearing so many punny science shirts, and if that means Peter gets to wear Tony’s old punk band tees? He’d gladly give them all up. 

He reaches to the bottom of the wardrobe, pulling out a few pairs of shoes.

“I wanna paint my nails, maybe we can do that when we get back?” Peter questions.

“Sick, but let’s go to like, an actual place, I really want a hand massage.” MJ nods from where she’s sprawled on his twin bed. 

“Okay, what ones?” Peter shows MJ a few pairs. A pair of old, worn docs he scored in a thrift store a few months back, some old slip on vans, and his trusty worn in black and white high tops. 

“I love the docs, but for this I’d vote high tops if it was on myself.”

“Done,” Peter puts the rest back in the wardrobe. 

“And with time to spare too, I’m impressed, Parker. Let’s go get some liquid fuel before braving the wild.” 

Peter slings his backpack over his shoulder, making sure to zip the front pouch closed, as he often forgets to do.

“Oh wait, lemme just-” just as MJ opens his door, Peter reaches back, grabbing his grey beanie off his desk. His hair wasn’t necessarily bad, but it looks cute on him and it’s also cold outside, so sue him. Plus, it’s gotten longer as of late, and Peter’s been ignoring getting a haircut for a while, it’s just long enough to have his curls poke out from the edge of the hat without any extra effort. 

(and if Tony and him like it longer because it feels better to grab fistfulls of, nobody has to know.)

  
  


-

  
  


The streets of New York are crowded. They always are. In general, Peter prefers swinging on his webs, but unfortunately, the situation didn’t call for it. That didn’t stop him from wearing the bands that house his web shooters and the Iron Spider though (just in case). 

Apparently, the event is at a cute little hipster coffee shop/bookstore, and when they get there, crowds of people are already crammed inside. It reminds Peter of a book signing that May took him to when he was little. He sees the baristas behind the counter and they look a little pressured. He leaves them a substantial tip in their little jar when he grabs coffee for him and MJ. 

There’s a small area set up to be a makeshift stage, though there’s no instruments or amps anywhere, so this truly would only be a Q and A type thing. They’ve stationed themselves somewhere near the back, sitting on two stools, slowly enjoying their coffee. Peter feels very at ease. The environment is very mild, it doesn’t set his senses off. There’s no artificial smells, just roasted coffee beans and the occasional whiff of cream and sugar. There’s some very soft lo-fi type music playing and immediately Peter adores it. The people inside are respectful of each other’s personal space, and everyone who bumps into him apologizes. It’s been a very good day, and Peter cherishes the warm feeling in his chest when he looks at MJ sitting next to him, excitedly eyeing the makeshift stage area. She sees him and smiles warmly back at him. 

The person who Peter recognizes as the lead singer, followed by the guitarist, bassist, and the drummer, walk out from behind an erected curtain, and everyone starts to cheer. The singer sits down in the middle most chair at the small table, leaning in close to the mic.

“Hello, guys, gals, and my non binary pals, how are you guys doing today?” 

Peter smiles warmly, clapping and cheering with the rest of the collected crowd. 

  
  
  


What follows is probably the most tame meeting for a punk band ever. They ask and answer questions from people, a small mic being passed around that he recognizes as a newer release from Stark Industries media subdivision. Peter debates asking a question himself, and honestly, he’s having such a good time that he’s having a hard time seeing any possible negative outcomes. So, when they ask for hands for the next question, the singer points at him, and the stage assistant comes over with the mic and hands it to Peter. 

Okay, now he’s just slightly nervous - butterflies in his stomach, so he sets his coffee down behind him at the table so he doesn’t spill it. MJ looks at him excitedly with wide eyes.

“H-hi, my name is Peter,”

“Hi Peter,” The band replies, in unison, which makes him giggle.

“My friend MJ here introduced me to your music, and she told me that you partner and donate to charities; I was wondering what ones you currently partner with and which ones you may partner with in the future?”

The lead singer smiles at him. “That’s an awesome question Peter, thank you for asking that,” and he goes on, listing the three different partnerships for ocean cleanup, and two others for reforestation. They also explain that they would love to partner with more charities in the future, covering an array of different topics in need of attention. 

Peter is just about to reply with his thank yous, when he interrupts him.

“Hey, dude, I am so sorry for putting you on the spot like this, but do I know you from somewhere? You look super familiar,” and for a second Peter panics. Literally, has a panic attack in the three seconds before he interrupts himself again, wondering if maybe someone had leaked something about Spiderman, or seen him with the rest of the Avengers at some point? When did he get so lax about his mask?

Someone from the crowd shouts out,  _ “He’s Tony Stark’s boyfriend!”  _

Oh. Well, at least that’s a little less panic inducing to address. He occasionally gets approached in public now, since their relationship hit the fan (in a good way) some time ago. It was good the he was able to just  _ be  _ with Tony without having to worry about people speculating whether or not Tony was cheating on Pepper with him, or something as equally stupid. 

Peter moves the mic closer to his mouth again, and he notices a few people bring their phones out. “Oh,” he laughs. “Yeah, I am!”

The lead singer starts again. “God, thank you for that, it would have been bugging me all day,” everyone giggles. “Thank you for your question though, Peter, I really appreciate it.” and just like that they’ve moved on to the next person. 

When the assistant takes the mic back from him, he looks at MJ. She looks torn between being worried, surprised, and excited, and Peter can’t say he feels anything different.

  
  


-

  
  
  


The event is done, and Peter still feels a little bit of apprehension at the whole thing. For what reason though? He can’t say. It just felt like an odd place to get noticed. MJ seems to notice his turmoil, because she nudges him in the arm.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Not that there’s anything  _ to  _ worry about. C’mon, there’s a really dope queer-friendly nail bar a few streets over, there’s like, candy and shit, it’s fun.”

And MJ was so right. The inside of the nail salon is  _ awesome.  _ They have a really sweet waiting area, complete with a game emulator, where MJ and him are playing pac-man when they get called over. 

Peter’s never actually gotten a real manicure before, it was always at home or at his friend’s houses. This feels so much better. All of the dead skin he didn’t even know he had was peeled away, it made his hands look completely different. MJ was getting fake nails, which he’s kind of envious of, but it definitely wouldn’t fly with his suit, so he’s already decided he’s not even going to attempt it. Maybe one day though, when he goes on a vacation and has time to himself to enjoy them. 

The nail tech (he just learned that’s a term) asked him what colour he wanted, and he already knows that he wants black. They try and persuade him into an accent colour (also just learned that term) but he’s unmovable. 

He really hopes Tony likes it. Though, Tony usually doesn’t have much protest about what he does to his body. He  _ definitely  _ didn’t complain when he asked Tony to pierce his nipple for his birthday. He was confused at first as to why it had to be him, but as he explained that it would be super suspicious if he went into a studio with his enhanced healing, and Tony caved. It healed itself before Tony was done fucking him into the workbench. 

His right hand is finished, and is waiting on his left when he hears more than feels his phone vibrate in his jacket pocket, since it’s pretty padded against the cold. He carefully pulls it out, the polish feeling weird on his hand still, worried that he’s going to smear it on things, but the tech assured him that it wouldn’t since it was UV polish. There’s an idea that niggles at the back of Peter’s mind from that, wondering how he could implement that into his fiddling with tech.

He presses the home button and the screen lights up, the little green icon blazing.

  
  


_ From: Tony 💖💖 _

_ Sent 13:15 _

_ Hey baby, how’s your lecture going? _

  
  


Peter’s stomach dropped a little. He panics and glances at MJ, who’s also looking at his phone screen in question. 

Peter whispers. “Do you think he knows?”

MJ shakes her head. “I doubt it. It’s probably just a coincidence.”

Hm. Peter purses his lips, seemingly at an impasse. He’s not phrasing anything differently than he normally would, and he usually asks Peter how his classes are going part way through as a check up. He thinks it’s adorable that he cares so much about how much he enjoys his classes.

He thinks he’s probably in the green, and that the universe usually has some not so funny jokes to play on him all the time, so he replies.

_ To: Tony 💖💖 _

_ Sent 13:17 _

_ Good! A little boring though, everyone’s checked out, ready for reading break next week. _

  
  
  


He gets a little more nervous as time passes though, and he doesn’t get a reply back. They’re both exiting the salon, having paid and giving their thanks, and again, Peter leaves a very nice tip for them. In part because they were awesome and had great service and partly because it’s so nice to have a safe space to enjoy things. 

Walking down the street, they both grabbed another coffee on their way back to Peter’s dorm. He hears his ringtone in his pocket, signifying an incoming call. He pulls it from his pocket, handing his coffee cup off to MJ for a moment, and looks at the caller ID.

It reads:  _ Tony 💖💖 _

And he knows he’s in trouble.

He faces MJ, desperate for help. “What do I do? Should I answer?” 

She shrugs her shoulders, wanting to help, but also not wanting to make it worse. Peter takes his cup back, trying to calm himself with a sense of normalcy. He presses the screen, answering the call. 

“Tony?” 

“ _ Peter Benjamin Parker _ .” he hisses through the phone. 

_ Fuck. _ Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, his traitorous brain supplies.

“Yes, Daddy?” He sees MJ contain a laugh in his peripheral. 

“Oh no, you don’t get to  _ yes, Daddy  _ me right now.” 

He decides (stupidly) to play dumb, as if it would help, but knowing it wouldn’t. “What?”

“You’re fucking kidding me right now, Peter.” He winces slightly and leans closer to MJ, curiously looking at him so she can listen in. 

“If you’re not in front of this building in five minutes, you’re not going to like the consequences.” he hears the harsh beeping from him ending the call. He knows they’re only three minutes away.

Peter sighs, his cheeks growing hot. “I’m so fucked.” 

MJ snorts. “Your poor asscheeks.”

“Ugh, I don’t know if it’s gonna be something as easy as that. It wasn’t his Daddy voice.”

“There’s multiple?”

He nods. “Yeah, there’s his Daddy voice, obviously super fun, and his Dad voice, not so fun.”

“You might not want to walk up with me, you’ll just get caught in the crossfire.” He hands her his coffee to keep, knowing she’ll happily drink both. 

She agrees. “Alright, let me know how it goes, and if you need some  _ real  _ saving, just say the word and I’m there.” and she winks at him. Peter waves as he watches her walk away. He’s probably pushing the five minutes now though. However, a morbid part of him wonders what will happen if he’s late.

He sees Tony standing in front of his building, arms crossed in front of his chest, and looking entirely too mad for Peter to wiggle his way out of it by flashing some nice undies. 

He walks right up to Tony, and Tony watches him the whole way, eyebrow raised, until he comes to a complete stop a couple of feet away from him. 

“Peter.”

“Yes?” 

“Just exactly what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“What do you mean?” playing dumb really isn’t a good idea, in the grand scheme of things.

“What do I mean? I mean  _ this _ , Peter-” Tony faces his phone screen up, so the front will project, and he sees a picture of himself, the front page of some tabloid website, with a mic in his hand, asking the band members his question. The title reads something about him that his eyes flick over too fast to catch, and then Tony’s put his phone away anyway. 

“Why did you skip class to go see some fucking band, huh?”

And because Peter just loves to dig holes for himself, he counters with, “It wasn’t like it was a concert! It was like, a meet and greet thing! They were talking about the charities they partner with!”

“Peter, I don’t fucking care if they were talking about going to fucking Pluto - I’m done with this, we’re going, _ right now _ .” Peter knows he has no room to argue. He tries to open his mouth to get something out, but one glance from Tony shuts him up. He’s gentle in leading Peter to his car, his larger hand poised on his upper arm, parked off to the side a few meters away, and he gets in the passenger set without hesitation. 

He wants to say something. He really does. But he can’t bring himself to slice the thick silence in the car, on the way back to the tower. Tony waits until they’re in the penthouse to say anything. 

He’s pouring himself some juice from the fridge - lemonade Peter thinks, and Peter moves to take a seat opposite of where he’s standing at the island. 

Tony stares at him for a second. 

“What are you doing, Peter?”

“What?”

“Don’t  _ what  _ me. What are you doing? You think acting like a punk will get people to respect you?”

And because Peter just love to press his buttons, “It seemed to work out for you alright.” he snipes.

He sees and  _ hears  _ Tony’s jaw clench. “Come here,  _ now _ .” He spits through closed teeth. Peter slowly and leisurely gets up from the stool and walks to the other side of the island, coming to a stop in front of Tony, chests nearly touching. 

Tony’s hand flies up to grip his jaw in his hand, and the gentle way he’s holding him is contrastive to his action.

“What’s your word?”

“Wookee.” he replies. 

Tony’s hand leaves his face, only for it to return, slapping his cheek, the impact turning his face to the side. Peter licks his lips and revels in the rush of blood to his groin. 

“You gonna talk back to me now?”

Peter faces him again, grinning and flashing teeth before he answers. “I dunno, depends on where it’s gonna get me,” as soon as the sentence is out of his mouth, the rest of his breath leaves him, a sharp and loud crack sounded in the empty room again. 

It’s not even painful, it’s just the surprise and the implication of it all. 

“On your knees, in front of the sofa, you can wait for me.” 

“Aw, but I was hoping-” Tony slaps him again before he can get the rest of his thought out. After a moment, he roughly fists his hand in Peter’s curls, after he rips the beanie off of his head and tosses it across the counter top. He can feel his asshole positively throbbing. Peter knows that Tony can feel his pants tenting as much as the material would allow. Tony pulls his head back, so Peter’s mouth involuntarily falls open, and he has to strain his eye muscles to get a proper look at the older man. 

“ _ Now.  _ I will not repeat myself.” 

Peter pouts, but goes anyway. He debates on stripping his clothes when he’s there, but he wasn’t instructed to, so he hopes he’s making the right decision in not. 

He sits on his knees, facing towards the sofa. He listens to Tony moving around the bar, ice clinking, and then the slosh of liquid into a glass. He sits down heavily on the couch, amber liquid moving in his hand. Tony dips an index finger in his glass, and offers the scotch-coated appendage to Peter. He opens his mouth obediently, tongue falling past his bottom lip. He gratefully sucks and licks his finger until there’s no more traces of the bitter, burning drink. Not Peter’s preference, by far, but he’s not exactly in a position to ask Tony to mix him a daiquiri. 

Tony lazily combs his hand through Peter’s curls, bringing the glass to his lips to take a sip and Peter watches his adam’s apple bob on his throat as he swallows. He wants, so bad, to lick it. 

“How are we going to do this, Peter? Are you going to be good?”

He quirks his head. “And what fun would that be?”

Tony hums. He doesn’t look pleased in the slightest with Peter’s remark. 

Peter watches as he throws back the rest of his drink, like he’s offended by having to hold it any longer.

Tony’s right hand, rough and calloused slides down from Peter’s hair, tenderly hovering on his cheek for a moment before covering the entirety of his mouth, and he knows what’s coming next. He was hoping for this. He knows Tony is hoping and waiting for him to crack. He knows what Peter needs, most of the time, even if Peter himself doesn’t. He fights it, simply because he’s a brat and he opposes authority for the most part. But, in the end, he always abdicates his control. And it’s  _ such  _ a relief. To not have to  _ think  _ about anything, to have all the decisions already made for you. No pressure, no anxiety, no quick-timed decision making, just raw feeling. To have something as basic air being taken from him, even momentarily, it clears his head in a way he never thought possible. 

Tony’s other hand moves to Peter’s nose, hovering over it. Peter nods, ever so slightly, to give him the go-ahead, and he knows Tony saw it. 

He pinches his airways shut. When he’s sure that Peter is finally giving him his undivided attention, he speaks, having no choice but to listen. 

“Here’s your options. You listen to me and take the punishment, like I know you can. I’ll even let you choose: belt or cane, because I’m feeling a little generous today,” 

Peter fights his instincts to grab at Tony’s hands and keeps his hands balled into fists, resting on top of his thighs. 

“If you don’t listen, or keep acting up and talking back, I chain you to the bed, stick a vibrator up your ass and a cock ring on, and you can stay that way for, oh…” he pauses to look at the clock on the wall, glancing behind Peter’s head. He can feel his eyes start to water and spill over. He can hold his breath for a pretty decent time, but even he has a limit. 

“I’ll say, the next 6 or so hours, while I get some paperwork and upgrades done. Understood?”

Peter frantically nods, and now he can’t stop his hands from gripping Tony’s wrist, his lungs screaming for the intake of oxygen. But he loves it. The discomfort can only be interpreted in one way. And he loves having his limited options laid out so clearly for him to choose from.

Tony holds it for just another second before letting go. Peter falls forward, greedily gulping down air. 6 hours is well within Peter’s ability, he knows. But at this rate, he knows that if he chooses the former, he’ll most likely get to cum before that, and he’s not sure he wants to wait tonight. 

Still gasping, Peter calls out. “Belt please, sir.”

Tony smiles and something inside Peter warms. “Good boy.”

He goes straight for his belt, Peter watches his fingers deftly work the loops open and pulls it loose from his jeans. 

It’s expensive, high-grade leather, he knows. Not that Tony would have anything less. Peter likes using everyday objects though, as opposed to something like a flogger or a crop. He likes the shivers that crawl down his spine the next time he sees the item that brought him to his precipice, being used innocuously. 

Tony stops for a moment, knees spread, elbows resting just above that, clutching his belt in one hand. Peter panics for a second, wondering if he was supposed to catch on to something, wondering if he's blown his chance, until he follows Tony's line of sight down to his hands. 

Oh, that's right. He got his nails done.

"Do you like them, Daddy?" 

Tony holds his hand out, waiting for Peter to give him one. 

"I do, princess, it really suits you, they look lovely." 

Peter is beaming. "I hoped you would. I was excited to show you. " 

Tony kisses his knuckles before letting his hand drop, standing up and holding Peter's gaze. 

"Everything off. On your knees, hands on the back of the couch." 

If Peter's disappointed because he doesn't get to be held over Tony's lap, he tries not to let it show. He takes his time, watching Tony’s eyes follow each garment to the floor, falling in an unruly pile. He’s got everything on his top half taken off, just about to reach for the button of his jeans, when a snapping sound rings, and Peter realizes the belt has made contact with his lower back. Nothing hard, it was more intended for sound than it was impact.

“Hurry up, you’re being a fucking brat and you know it. Keep doing it and I’m going to extend your punishment.” 

Peter hurries to shimmy his pants off, and leaves his boxer briefs on, knowing Tony likes warm-up before going for actual skin. He kneels on the cushion, leaning forward and resting his forearms and elbows on the pillow that usually supports one’s back.

Tony’s hand rests on his cheek, kneading the copious muscle for a moment. 

There’s no warning when the first impact comes, and it doesn’t really feel like anything yet. No stinging or aching, especially while the layer of fabric was still there to protect him for the time being. The next couple of blows are the same. They've barely even gotten started and Peter feels himself starting to pant, and when he hangs his head in between his arms, he sees a large wet patch at the tip of his dick straining through the briefs. 

"You're already fucking wet, Peter. You're absolutely dripping and I've hardly touched you." Tony's words don't help the situation at hand either. 

Without mercy, Tony pulls them down to just above his knees, essentially immobilizing him. His cock jumps out of the cloth prison, bobbing back to centre, the head flushed a deep red, precum beading at the tip, giving it a healthy glaze. 

Peter has always produced what seems like a crazy amount of precum. Sometimes he thinks it may have to do with his powers, because he's so sensitive all the time, but he doesn't have a definitive answer. Just that Tony  _ loves  _ it, and so does he. Sometimes, Tony will purposely tease him extra long so he can use the precum as lube, fucking Peter with his own fluids, whilst he moans and whispers into his ear about how fucking  _ dirty _ it is. How dirty  _ he  _ is, for loving it. On the less frequent occasions where Tony wants to bottom, he still does it so that the squelching can be heard throughout the room as Tony spears himself on Peter's cock.

Peter bites his bottom lip, worried that he'll draw blood, but knowing it won't matter either way - if anything, it'll just serve to turn him on more. Tony pauses his ministrations from behind him. "You know what? I've changed my mind. You're still getting flogged, don't worry - but the conditions have changed." 

Peter's eyebrow shoots up in question. "I'm giving you 75 lashes, because I know you can handle it, and because of your behaviour. But, if you don't cum by the end of it, you won't be allowed to cum for another week. Oh - and just to be clear, you're not allowed to touch yourself." 

Peter's never been so sure he's wanted a punishment in all the time they've been together. 75 lashes might be unattainable for an unenhanced individual, but he can't be entirely sure. He knows he can take it, and will thoroughly enjoy it as well.

His cock jumps, traitorously. 

"Yes, sir." 

Peter trusts (and has trusted) Tony with his life. He trusts Tony to make the decisions he knows he needs, but won't give himself. He knows that he can bring everything to a halt with one word. And he still wants it.

"Count for me, sweetheart." 

The blows commence again, and this time, he can feel the bite at the sharp edges of the leather. First, it stings, and then fades quickly as his body gets to work into a hot burn, and Peter can feel the arousal shoot straight to his cock and heating his face. 

After 15 lashes, he's steadily dropping onto the couch below, forming a gratuitous puddle he knows will only continue to grow. 

By 30, he has his face buried in his own shoulder, biting a chunk of his skin and drooling, enough to bruise but not enough to draw blood, and it feels good to have something to grind his teeth into. Next time, he'll have to remember to ask for the bit gag. Or maybe Tony will thrive on that discomfort and use the ring gag instead. The thought thrills him and he makes a mental note to tell him after. 

At 60, he's openly panting and moaning, his hips making aborted movements, unsure of whether he wants to chase the feeling or hide from it. At 70, he feels warmth pooling in his pelvis and his balls feel tighter. 

" _ Ah,  _ Daddy, I'm so -  _ close _ ," he continues counting. 

"Last three." Tony says, and his voice sounds tight. He's restraining himself from abandoning the punishment all together in favor of fucking him then and there, Peter knows from experience. 

"74-" he gasps, and he finally feels the heat shoot out into his shaft, his balls draw tight up to his body, and Peter can  _ still  _ feel his asshole throbbing, along with the pleasant burning of his asscheeks, radiating enough heat to rival a campfire. 

As Tony lays the last lash, he screams, blinding heat finally consuming him and he shoots all over the cushion. He doesn't feel sorry for ruining it.

The only thing he feels is blinding pleasure. It's painful, yes, but Peter's always loved it. He only has to listen to his nerves singing, and his thunderous heartbeat in his ears. He feels the remaining seed dripping down his length, and he slowly opens his eyes to look. It tickles, and he watches it settle near the base of the shaft, in his cropped pubic hair. It quickly cools.

The rest of his surroundings start to fade back into place, he hears Tony mumbling, feeling his lips softly travelling across his shoulders and down his spine. His beard also tickles him and his skin involuntarily retracts and he can't help the wet sounding giggle that escapes him.

"I'm so proud of you, baby, you were so perfect, just like I asked you to,"

He smiles, but he's far from done. His dick hadn't waned in the slightest, his asshole still throbbing and desperate, and he  _ really _ wants to feel the rough denim of Tony's jeans grinding against his abused cheeks as he fucks him into his own mess.

"Tony, please, I'm not -  _ please,  _ fuck me sir,  _ please _ ," 

His ministrations on Peter's skin don't cease. 

"You don't need to, baby, I'm already so happy and proud of you." 

"I know Daddy, but I want to. Wanna feel my ass chafe from your pants and your thick cock splitting me - I need it sir,  _ please. _ "

He knows that Tony would safe out if he had any hesitations, so instead he continues the scene. 

"Yeah? You want to feel  _ this _ -" he roughly pulls Peter's ass toward him, two grips on either of his hips, harshly grinding himself - still clothed - on his raw asscheeks. Peter gets half caught between a moan and a scream, because it fucking  _ hurts  _ and absolutely stings and aches, but it feels  _ so fucking good _ . There's no denying it, Peter allows himself to be consumed by the conflicting sensations. 

Tony's zipper drags across his exposed hole, and he stills himself like a statue, because he nearly just came again. 

Tony doesn't fail to notice it.

"Oh baby, you love it so much - you're such a fucking whore for it." and they're both panting and grinding on each other like they're two 14 year olds in the back of a borrowed car at the edge of the woods, where nobody can catch them.

" _ Yes _ , sir, please, please I need it -" he cries out.

He feels Tony drape himself across his back, not stopping in grinding against him, reaching his hand to his still wet cock, hanging heavily in front of him and collects a generous mixture of cum and precum, reaching back to rub it on and in Peter's opening. He jumps immediately to two fingers instead of starting with one, and Peter absolutely wails, his hand flying to grip around himself to stop his lurking orgasm. 

Tony preps him just how he likes - quick and rough, scissoring his fingers open. He periodically reaches back to gather more of Peter's fluids, this time adding his other hand into the mix before bringing it to Peter's lips where he accepts the intrusion instantly. 

Running his tongue between Tony's fingers, gathering every last bit he can manage, he hears him pop his button and his zipper with his other, clearly not caring about the mess on his hands. He turns his head to see Tony pull his clothes down, just to his mid thigh, where they won't get in the way. Peter knows that Tony knows that he loves it when he fucks him fast and dirty with his clothes on. 

He reluctantly pulls his hand from the boy's mouth, flying down for  _ even more _ fluids, and he knows it's an exuberant amount. He wants Peter to hear himself fucking into him. 

Peter feels the initial breach of Tony's thick cock head at his rim, and he sits there for a moment to tease him with the stretch while his hands grip slippery at his hips enough to leave marks. Peter cries out again. 

"Daddy,  _ sir _ , please - I can't take it,  _ please, _ " 

"Well, who am I to deny my boy when he's been so good, and asks so nicely?" 

In an instant, Tony bottoms out, not leaving any time for Peter to adjust to the burning, now both inside and out. The predicted and explicit slapping of skin on skin, and the squelching of lubricant fills the air thickly. Peter thinks that if it were an audio file, he could get off to that sound alone. He vows to bring it up as an idea again later.

" _ Fuck _ , baby, you're so tight, you're always so tight, I'm not gonna last long, am I, honey?" 

"Yes, Daddy, please, please, please, cum inside me, I want to feel it - have it running down my legs and over my sac-" 

The already brutal pace interrupts Peter's train of thought and pick up even more. 

Tony knows Peter is close too, and he's pleasantly floating, his face completely blissed out, little  _ 'uh, uh's  _ coming from a carnal place inside him. Peter doesn't even notice that he's got his own hand wringing his cock. 

"You close, baby boy? You gonna cum again for me? C'mon -" and Tony looks down at where they're connected, skin stretching obscenely to accommodate his length. He reaches with his free hand, his thumb dancing around the edge not slowing his pace, and inserts it at the top, pulling the stretch even more, and Tony knows that Peter's lost it. 

Peter wails like a grade-A porn star, all his muscles seizing, but letting his hand continue on. Tony can  _ hear  _ his cum hit the fabric. And that really, really shouldn't but such a fucking turn on but it is, and Tony is quickly following behind him as Peter's insides clench around him like a hot vice. Peter absolutely milks his cock until there is no more. 

Making true to Peter's wish, he pulls back and watches the cum drip down his taint, coating the back of his balls and starting down his thighs. 

Peter can only hear himself panting, heavily, as he comes back to himself. His head rests on the cushion below him, and as brain kicks back online, he feels Tony's larger blanketing his own, his breaths rising and falling with his, chest against back. 

He suddenly feels a little too empty and alone, involuntarily letting out a high pitched whine. He doesn't need to worry, because Tony knows - he always knows. He slowly maneuvers him to lean sideways to sit down, and when his ass hits the sofa he hisses. Tony leans forward, putting his weight on his knees on the edge of the couch, kneeling down and consuming him in a searing kiss. 

Peter can't help it, he wants to stay like that for as long as he possibly can; at least until he absolutely  _ needs _ to be cleaned up. He licks his way into Tony's mouth immediately, barely any thought behind it as he feels the man's tongue against his. 

Tony decides that it’s time to clean up though, because he picks Peter up bridal style and carries him down to their en suite. Setting him down on the counter, Peter hisses again, but settles quickly when he realizes the cold marble feels pretty fucking amazing on his burning ass. Tony turns the taps on and he watches as he reaches to grab a few washcloths. He comes closer to Peter and he wraps his arms around Tony’s neck, staring into his eyes and he feels nothing but love and adoration. 

It’s Peter who speaks first. “Sorry I ruined your couch.” he quips.

Tony buries his face in Peter’s shoulder, laughing. “Honey, I could not care  _ less  _ about the couch. 

He pulls back, searching Peter’s face again. 

“I love you, Tony.”

“I love you too, Peter.”

  
  
  


After they’ve both showered (in which Peter tenderly got his hair washed and conditioned, something he won’t admit to loving but croons like a puppy at it anyway) Peter lays on his belly on Tony’s exceedingly large bed, avoiding unnecessary sensation on his ass. The older man comes back from the bathroom with a jar in hand, opening it and rubbing the contents on Peter’s flaming backside. The bruises that were there were already healing. Peter figures they’ll be gone entirely by morning. 

The salve tingles cold for a moment, and then, curiously, the burning and stinging gently fades.

“What is that? Rub a535 on cocaine?” Peter asks and Tony chuckles.

“Basically. Cooling and numbing for enhanced individuals.”

“You better be the only one so far who’s used it on anyone’s ass cheeks.”

Tony grins at Peter, who’s looking back at him over his shoulder. “On  _ your _ ass cheeks, yes. But I can’t speak for the super sized duo downstairs.” 

Peter’s face scrunches. “Poor Steve.” 

“And what makes you think he’s catching?”

“I never said that he was catching, Tony.” They both stare for a minute and then burst out laughing, both holding their midsections. Peter feels warmth, spreading through his limbs. 

Tony, still naked (because really what’s the point?) crawls forward, laying beside Peter, mirroring him pillowing his head on his arms.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Peter smiles, beaming. 

Tony’s smile turns hesitant, and he already knows what he’s going to say.

“Pete-”

“I know, I know,” Peter sighs. He feels Tony’s hand lightly drifting up and down his spine.

“Peter, I really wish you would just tell me when you need things.”

“I’m sorry. Honestly, I didn’t even realize it. It’s just - I’m still adjusting, but nobody ever accounts for that. They just thrust you into the water without checking if you even know how to swim. I just want to not worry about it.”

“Worry about what?”

“Everything. My future. What major I’m going to pick, what classes I’m going to take, fuck - what career I want? I don’t know! Six months ago I had to ask to go to the fucking bathroom, and now I’m expected to choose my life? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Tony leans forward and presses a soft kiss to his forehead. 

“You’re not supposed to know right now. Tell everyone who asks to shove it up their orifice of choice - better yet,  _ i’ll  _ do it for you,” Peter grins.

“I’m right here with you, and any decision you want to make, I’ll support you. Unless you move to soft sciences - that’s when I leave you.” They’re back to gut laughing. 

Peter reaches out, resting his hand on Tony’s bicep, and his eyes flash down to his fingers again.

“I really do like it, it looks amazing on you.” He sees his eyes flick to his mouth when he licks his lips before responding.

“MJ got fake nails, I thought those were really cool - they look badass too. It wouldn’t work with my suit though, obviously, so I don’t know if I could ever have them.”

“Hm. Maybe when I take you to our island after your semester ends, you can get them before we leave so you can really enjoy them.”

“Yeah, that sounds- wait, hold on,  _ excuse me _ ? Our  _ what now _ ?”

Tony sits up, ready to flee, and Peter isn’t far behind him.

“Oh darn, did I not tell you about that? This adorable little place in Bora Bora, fully stocked and-”

His voice fades as he quickly walks (runs) from the room.

“ _ Anthony Edward Stark,  _ you get your fucking sneaky ass back here!” Peter’s yelling but there’s a smile in his voice, Tony can tell.

Peter doesn’t think he’s ever been more in love, chasing his boyfriend, both of them buck naked, through the penthouse. 

They’ve both collapsed back on the bed, where Tony is tickling Peter’s sides, and he’s ready to call a truce when he hears his phone skid across the side table.

  
  


_ From: MJ _

_ Sent 19:45 _

_ All good? _

  
  


He looks back at Tony, still laughing, over his shoulder. He smiles as he’s typing.

  
  


_ To: MJ _

_ Sent 19:46 _

  
  


_ Yeah, all good.  _

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think!! comments and kudos are always received with much love
> 
> ps. please don't use sex or bdsm as a coping mechanism if you are struggling with your problems, this is a work or fiction in which it is portrayed the way it wants to be, it doesn't reflect how a situation like this may or may not go.
> 
> [starker tumblr](https://ddystrk.tumblr.com)  
[tumblr](https://thrki.tumblr.com)  



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